Stick with Me
by OfTheMoonAndTheStars
Summary: Adventure/Romance/Thriller - John and Angela, how I imagine the two of them moving on after the movie. New threats, old faces. Possible M for language and whatnot.
1. A Kindness

**Prologue**

Ash. Sulphur. A burnt, brittle taste in the mouth, lingering in her throat and filling her nostrils, heat rising and beginning to choke, the pain searing in her eyes. She blinks, tears fall. She feels the hot, putrid air whirling around her, causing her hair to fall into her face and drowning out the horrid images and shadows in front of her, if only briefly. The cackling of the dark figures, their growling and muttering in Hellspeak becoming louder as they approach her. The burning of her skin is unimaginable now, she cries out in agony before she can control it – the figures screech in delight and veer towards her with a renewed energy and enthusiasm. As she tries to turn and run, she feels the claws push deep into her back and shoulders, others tearing at her legs impeding her movement. With a loud scream, she begins to fall towards the arid, hot ground.

'Angela….'

She tries to scream, but no sound comes out. All she can feel is the agonising sting of the demon's touch against her skin, dissolving her clothing and throbbing, gnawing, creeping into her veins, her bones. She had experienced nothing like it.

'Angela…'

Suddenly the pain ceased. She felt slimy, cold hands pull her up from the ground and spin her around. She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up, to get out, to do anything but be here. She could feel breath against her face, and she knew what was coming.

'Angela…be a doll and open those big beautiful eyes of yours.' The voice sneered.

She felt tears fall. Seeking to delay the inevitable, she kept her eyes closed until she felt a sharp sting against her cheek; he had slapped her. Hard.

'Come on now dearie; I don't have all night.'

She clutched at her cheek, and slowly turned to face her assailant. Though frightened, she felt angry, and was determined not to appear as a weak, pathetic creature regardless of her dire situation. She forced herself to look Lucifer straight in the eye. His wide grin and manic eyes sent chills straight through her heart – she merely blinked.

'That's better.' He began to rub his hands together. 'Oh Angie, Angie… how long has it been?'

She stood silent, willing tears not to fall from her eyes.

'Hmm…I suppose you have good reason to be upset with me, don't you Angie.' He suddenly clapped his hands together, the noise startling her. 'Now! While my little boy… the little rapscallion…wasn't so successful in trying to cross over to your lovely home,' he wheezed, and he began to pace around her in a circle, his blackened feet leaving greasy traces of tar in his wake. '…he did give me an idea….an idea I think you'll be interested in.'

Angela continued to watch him as he paced around her, aware of the demon figures surrounding her and their attention also fixated towards him, their leader.

'You are a very useful friend, Angie. Very useful indeed. And I can give you what you want in return.'

She was puzzled by this. Her thoughts immediately went to Isabel, but she knew she was no longer here; she was safe, she was home. 'What do you mean?' she attempted to keep the tremors out of her voice, but she was barely audible. Lucifer grinned.

'Oh…' he began to clap his hands together again, slightly at first but then louder and with more excitement. The demon figures around him jeered. 'You don't want me to get my hands on Johnny boy now, do you?'

She frowned.

'Ah…of course, you don't.' he rasped slowly. 'He saved you. And you owe him a big, big, big!' he began to shout. 'favour, don't you Angie girl?'

Angela met his gaze, her eyes widened in terror. She felt like challenging him, but her voice carried no authority and any emotion she conveyed was bound to only encourage his taunts. She kept her mouth shut, and managed a glare of resistance.

'Yes. Good little Catholic girls like you … you know… a debt, a kindness, should be repaid.' He mocked, as he ceased pacing but looked at her from the side with a mixture of pure glee and madness combined.

'You're the only way he can be saved, Angie… so you better listen to what ol' Lu tells you to do.' He almost whispered, making his words even more terrifying. Without warning, he clicked his fingers and all of the demon spectators lunged towards her, teeth bared and their fingers outstretched, ready to taste her flesh.

She awoke with a petrified gasp and her arms flailing; a bedside lamp clattered to the floor, its bulb shattering into pieces. Duck meowed angrily, previously content in the throes of sleep, as he scurried out of the bedroom. Her breathing haggard, she felt the beads of sweat form around her forehead and chest as she tried to calm herself down. Her skin was burning, she felt as if steam rose from her body and yet as fast as she saw it, the steam disappeared. Did she imagine it? ' _But that was no dream_ …' she thought to herself worriedly, her mind racing as she attempted to recall how many days it had been since she'd last been able to sleep anything longer than four hours.

4.38am. Her alarm clock blinked and brightened in the same moment, Angela's eyes narrowing in response. She sighed. No point trying to get back to sleep. Throwing the duvet out of the way, she carefully avoided the broken lamp as she made her way into the kitchen. In the corner of the room, a small circular chime counted thrice.


	2. A Target

**Chapter One**

Two weeks after Mammon had tried to take over earth, her hiding of the Spear of Destiny in a secret location, and after both Chas' and Isabel's funeral, John had turned up at her door with a variety of tools, bottles and utensils that she recognised from his own apartment. Though luckily he had managed to catch her on a rare day off, unfortunately he hadn't timed his visit well enough that she hadn't even gotten properly dressed, and her shorts and crop top pyjamas left uncomfortably little to the imagination. He smirked and continued to hold her gaze as she felt her skin blush, inadvertently crossing her arms and trying to shield her bare skin.

'Some warning wouldn't have gone amiss, John.' She said, but with amusement in her voice.

'You need to be prepared.' He stated simply.

She looked at him quizzically, but of course she could imagine what he meant. She looked down at the tools he carried. 'Prepared for holy war?'

'Hopefully not.' He replied sarcastically.

She sighed, and opened her door wider, inviting him in. He set the tools down with a bang. Duck glared from his comfy spot on the couch and meowed in annoyance; all kinds of loud noises had been disturbing his usual slumber lately. Angela cleared her throat and felt all too aware of her distinct lack of clothing; she closed her arms over her chest again. 'Make yourself at home; I'll be back in a second.'

Hurriedly she turned and strode into her bedroom, silently thankful she had at least showered and washed her hair. Quickly she threw on the nearest set of clothes – a pair of skinny black jeans and a slightly oversized faded grey t-shirt – and brushed the slight tousling out of her hair, still mildly damp from earlier this morning. When she returned, somehow his belongings were already strewn over the place – a coat tossed over her couch, tools lying all over the table, the bottles of holy water scattered across her floor, as if he'd been bowling with them.

Without further ado he had begun to carve the complex symbols into her door, splaying chipped wood around him. His back turned to her, she took a moment to watch him and think back to the last time she saw him – upon that rooftop, his signature white shirt and trench coat still rumpled, though his skin and overall appearance looked much healthier than he had done since they'd first met. While she suspected he had problems with excess (the drinking and the smoking was understandable, but not at all missed), he seemed to have kicked them. He was still lean but she knew he was strong; she wondered if he still had the scars from their ordeal, whether they had begun to heal. She thought about her own physicality – for days afterwards she had a constant migraine and her joints ached; her stomach felt like it had been punched repeatedly with no recourse, and of course, the nightmares, the lack of sleep, the voices… She felt goosebumps form on her skin at the thought, but she instantly repressed it.

A few months ago, she would have stubbornly resisted the help of such a rude, egotistical man who could not even be bothered to have given her any notice of his intention to visit. She cringed inwardly as she looked back at her brashness over the last few weeks; her pulling a gun on a group of winged demons and the half breed Balthazar, her misplacing the amulet he had given her, ignoring his instructions. Ordinarily, she would have protested such an act; she could do things for herself, she was an intelligent, capable, strong woman who didn't need help. But she knew this was no ordinary situation, and it paid to be mindful of Constantine's expertise; despite his lack of charm. Rather than start a pithy argument, she accepted his help without a complaint.

'Thank you, John.' She said quietly, smiling a little. He looked over his shoulder at her, his dark eyes betraying no sign of anything other than concentration on the task at hand. He smirked back a little. 'No problem.' He replied, and turned back to his work.

Her smile widened a little as his response immediately brought back the memory of her lying soaked against the cool tile floor, her heart racing after the ordeal of Mammon attempting to escape from her body, and John Constantine's calm and tranquil stare that bore into her and somehow, despite the trauma and the danger of her situation mere moments beforehand, managed to coax a smile from her lips. With a slight leap in her stomach, she also remembered him moving towards her, their faces almost touching, as she gently leaned in at the exact moment his gaze shifted and he picked up the discarded Spear of Destiny. She chuckled quietly to herself. If it hadn't been for the terror she'd just endured, she might have had the energy to be embarrassed.

She busied herself making coffee, while the scraping, cutting, and chiselling of her front door continued. Duck jumped onto the kitchen counter and purred, his gaze shifting now and again between Angela and John. Angela chuckled.

'Duck doesn't seem to mind you being here.' She said loudly over the noise. John didn't pause.

'He might if he thought I'd be using him as a gateway to Hell again.' He replied.

Angela guessed that was a fair observation. She rubbed behind Duck's ears and then carried the two mugs of coffee over to her dining table, setting them down and taking a seat, watching Constantine at work. A few moments passed and she struggled to think what to say, or do. Should she interrupt him? What would she even say? She thought about trying to get him to open up about everything that had happened, and her mind swirled at how to even begin to attempt that conversation.

A small elderly woman suddenly appeared at her door, glaring at this tall unfriendly stranger. 'Who are you?' she barked.

Constantine simply stared at her then turned to Angela. 'Hello Mrs Hertz, how are you?' she answered politely, trying to keep the amused expression from her face. 'This is John.'

The old woman simply continued to glare at him. 'You're making an awful lot of noise, you know.' She narrowed her eyes and realised what he was doing. These strange symbols being carved into the door looked bizarre and unwelcoming. 'What are you doing? That's deliberate damage to property! I could report you to the neighbourhood's alliance for that!'

'Or you could go find some new neighbours.' John scoffed and continued on his work, ignoring her. She turned back to meet Angela's gaze with an incredulous look.

' _Thank god I got dressed before she showed up_.' Angela thought to herself. 'Sorry Mrs Hertz, we'll try to keep the noise down.'

The old lady muttered under her breath and began to scurry away, clearly disgruntled. Angela smirked. 'I see you still haven't learned any manners.' John met her gaze and smiled very slightly. She grinned back, and motioned to the coffee she'd made for him. He nodded and set his tools down, striding over and taking his mug. Duck, not one to miss the opportunity for attention, jumped across to the dining table and gazed up at this familiar man. Angela chuckled.

'He must really like you, despite what you did.' She remarked.

Constantine reached out to pet Duck, receiving a muffled purr in return.

'John?' Angela queried, all of a sudden forgetting the niceties and struck by this unexpected scenario. 'Do you think something is coming for me?' she asked, half-jokingly but her eyes betrayed her anxiousness.

He looked at her. 'I think the demon community now knows where to find a powerful psychic, and you should be careful.' He stated, a little bluntly. 'Demons always find new ways of affecting the balance; they might not try the same tactics as before, but they are still trying to cross over and you'd be a fool to think that they're done with you.'

She took a quiet yet sharp breath, feeling her lungs expand and quickly collapse. Of course this thought had occurred to her, and she was grateful for John's honesty; she was touched by his thoughtfulness in safeguarding her apartment. He might never tell her exactly how he felt, but he clearly cared enough to worry about her safety.

She nodded. 'So what should I do?'

Ordinarily, this would have been John's moment to hit out with a sarcastic, throwaway comment. ' _What does it matter? It's nothing to do with me_.' But like the chain smoking, the heavy drinking and the self-loathing, those days were behind him.

'Do whatever you want.' He started instinctively.

Maybe those days weren't so far behind him. He sighed. 'Like I said before, when you see them – they see you. You won't be able to avoid that, no matter what you do.'

Angela turned her gaze towards the table, her heart willing her to ask the question she most desired to, her head telling her not to go there. 'I don't want to pretend, go back to…normal. I want to use these powers for good, help people, protect them – if I can.' She sighed. 'C-Can you show me how?'

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. 'If you're sure.'

She smiled slightly. 'So, we can help each other? I mean, if I can help…' her voice trailed off.

He stared at her, almost through her. She met his gaze but subconsciously felt herself biting her lip, unfamiliar with these silences and yet all too familiar of her feeling uneasy, awaiting his answer. He took a step closer towards her seat. He looked away for a split second, then met her gaze again. 'If you stick with me, you'll be even more of a target.' He stated simply. He neglected to add, as he had done before, that the people who were close to him tended to end up dead. She already knew this, and it didn't seem to stop her.

Angela thought about this for a second. She understood his concern; she understood that all throughout his life anyone he had become close to were now gone. She understood his loneliness, the necessity of it. She understood his reluctance to get close to anyone again. She could also understand his bitterness; she imagined that even the most kind and good-natured disposition would have turned to cold, distant and cruel if they had endured his same circumstances. But the last few weeks had changed both of their lives; they had both lost people, they had both come close to death, they had both come out the other side, together and yet separate. Though not an ordinary way to meet someone by any stretch of the imagination, they were now forever connected by those events and the defeat of Mammon. It would be pointless to deny this bond, though both still hadn't faced up to their underlying emotions.

'…I could say the same to you. Aren't you even more of a target than I am?'

John's face remained blank. 'I can deal with it.' He retorted, perhaps more forcefully than he had intended. She felt her frustration rise, yet she decided to try and quell it.

'I know you can.' She replied calmly. 'I guess what I'm asking is…can two targets work together?'

He paused. She smiled sweetly. 'Didn't you once say that there was no turning back?' she queried.

John held her gaze. 'True. But… this isn't like catching criminals. These half-breeds will hunt you down, intimidate you, even…' he paused again. 'I can show you how to harness your abilities, but you need to understand exactly what you're getting into. You can't avoid detection, but there are ways to stay safe.' He glanced back over at his equipment. 'And helping send their asses back to Hell isn't exactly going to keep you out of danger.'

She glanced back over at the tools, the bottles of holy water, the carvings. It was too late to go back to being a cop, to ignoring her psychic powers and pretending they hadn't helped her in every disturbance, in every shootout, in every investigation. To pretend that she didn't have the powers to help make a difference on earth was not in her nature. John already knew that.

She nodded. 'I understand. I want to do this.'

'Suit yourself, Angela.' He muttered, and gulped the rest of his coffee then unceremoniously brought the empty mug down onto the table with a loud clatter. 'We can start tomorrow.'

It was the first time he'd said her name since she had last seen him, and she was embarrassed to feel the tingle that went down her spine. She subconsciously crossed her arms around her again.

She smiled. 'I'd like that.'


	3. A Purpose

A/N: I am sorry if things are starting off a little slow... I just feel like these things need to be set up before we can move on with something new! And these issues are just too big to miss out and it's important to lay out the background. I'm also trying to get the characterisation right...hopefully I'm doing ok? So if you're reading this thinking 'hmmm this is dragging on a bit' please bear with me, I have a plan for things to heat up (bad joke)!

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

John had just begun to accept the finality of his situation, his early death and his inability to escape from Lucifer's clutches by bargaining his way out. The ironic twist of fate, a knife in his back, as everything that he had done to earn God's good graces (for selfish gain, yes, but still) and redeem his suicide by sending the ill-behaved half-breeds back to Hell where they belonged, counted for 'nothing' in terms of bartering his way into Heaven. Yet another unexpected turn of events, as Lucifer agonisingly extracted the poison from John's lungs, promising him life and consequently the opportunity to let his selfishness, indulgence and indifference to true belief once again make Constantine 'his'. Having acknowledged the hopelessness of his circumstances, to then be given a third chance, had started to sink in. But Christ, he did miss the smoking.

Having handed over the Spear of Destiny to Angela, he felt at a loss; almost even more so than when the x-ray image of his black cancerous lungs had been burned into his eyes as proof of his unavoidable death sentence. He had visited Dr. Price after the storm had calmed; she had been frankly shocked, then ecstatic, then quietly suspicious. But the new x-rays simply confirmed what he already knew; the cancer was completely gone. He could live again.

'No more cigarettes.' She slyly remarked as John left her office. He smirked and nodded, pulling out the Nicotine gum from his pocket. She smiled.

'I'm really pleased for you, John.' She said genuinely.

'Thanks, Doctor. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I don't see you for a very long time.' he responded humorously, and walked out of the hospital.

 _Now what?_

He had 'cleaned up' the aftermath of the death of his friends; courtesy of selling off a variety of exclusive biblical items he had held onto for a rainy day, he sent a private donation to Chas' family in what he hoped would be a small act of compensation for what had happened. Having visited his grave later the night after Chas' funeral, and caught the quickest glimpse of Chas' half-breed form, he smirked but internally felt furious; Chas deserved to be in Heaven and at peace rather than back here on miserable Earth. But maybe he would get to see him again.

John had organised the funeral for Beeman; he had no relatives or anyone else to do it for him. It was a painful reminder of John's own solitary life, now more than ever, and he bitterly wished Beeman had never answered his call that day. Father Hennessy had a private ceremony organised by the local church; John knew his presence might have raised eyebrows, but he didn't care. All of these people who were once in his life, now gone. Guilt had begun to cripple him, though his mind desperately tried to block out the final moments of his comrades. His inability to prevent their fate seemed ridiculously unfair, particularly when his own life had been spared. His stomach churned as he thought of the one common denominator between them all; John Constantine.

' _And the occult._ ' He thought to himself sarcastically. ' _The bullshit 'balance._ '

* * *

At first John didn't know how to really explain that he'd been prepared to sacrifice his own life for Isabel's, or whether he should. But of course, he had to let Angela know her twin sister was at peace. And trying not to divulge information to a powerful psychic seemed pretty pointless.

With help from Midnite, he had found her a priest who would be willing to perform a Catholic funeral for Isabel with an understanding (and a willingness to overlook) the nature of her death. Angela was deeply touched by his gesture; even more so when he disclosed, somewhat sheepishly, his sacrifice for her sister and the assurance that Isabel was now 'home'. After the funeral service, she and John stood at the freshly erected tombstone.

 _Isabel Dodson_

 _Daughter of Edward and Miriam Dodson  
Beloved Sister of Angela Dodson_

 _Generous of heart, constant of faith._

'J-John, I don't even…' she started, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. 'I don't know what to s-say.'

He didn't know what to say either. Since he had met her, nothing had been what could be called 'ordinary', so far as he was able to have any semblance of a normal life. Having almost went to Hell for a woman he'd never actually met was certainly far from regular.

In one fluid motion she brushed the tears from her face and threw her arms around his neck. 'Thank you.' She whispered. As she slowly pulled away, she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He felt how hard her heart was beating against his chest even in that fleeting moment, and he noticed her cheeks flush ever so slightly. He placed his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way. 'No problem.' He replied.

She turned back to Isabel's grave, new tears streaming down her face. Pulling out a silver necklace from her pocket, she placed it beside the freshly cut flowers and handwritten messages, then brought her hand momentarily to the tombstone's inscription, gently stroking the letters of her sister's name. It was her cross, the one Angela had always worn.

'John.' She said suddenly, jolting back and standing beside him.

'Yeah?'

She turned to him, her expression stunned. 'D-Did you hear that?'

He shook his head. 'What is it?'

Angela instinctively brought her hands to her face, almost cupping her ears to drown out the low muffled sounds from nearby. John looked at her quizzically. Angela eventually met his gaze, shock now taken over by a combination of mild panic, disbelief and a hint of happiness. She smiled slightly. 'She said thank you.'

* * *

'Maybe her faith will rub off on you, John…' Midnite remarked, a hint of a smile upon his lips.

It was the first time John had come back to the club after the events, and he was painfully aware of his last visit accompanied by Chas, his presence now greatly missed. He received the usual cold expressions and glares from the club's guests; he hadn't expected a warm welcome, by any means. A few whispers taunted the death of his friends; others criticised his actions, his agenda, his narrow escape from Lucifer. That last one did make him smirk. ' _You need to do better than that next time, Lu._ '

Now, he sat opposite Midnite, his ally from many years ago, as a born-again man with the opportunity for redemption, and yet as ever, the weight of the world was on his shoulders. John didn't need to ask Midnite whether he already knew what had happened, or how he had found out. They had quietly toasted to Chas' memory, as well as Beeman and Hennessy, with the same bottle of rum he'd drank before he and Chas had gone to save Angela, and a few moments passed before they fell into the natural rhythm of conversation.

'What will you do now?' Midnite enquired after the fourth shot of rum.

John thought about this for a second. He had lost the three closest people he could count on as friends; all at the hands of Balthazar and the deranged Gabriel. While he had never had much faith in the 'balance' to begin with, all he had ever known how to do was to try and preserve it. To attempt to forget, to not 'see' was unthinkable. It was his duty (self-professed or not) to try and make a difference, to try and maintain the 'balance'; without him, there wasn't much of a balance to salvage. And whether for his own gain or not, it was all he was good at. How could he try and have a 'normal' life now, after everything he had been through? And why would he let the death of his friends be in vain?

'Same thing I've always done - keep this hypocritical 'balance' bullshit in check, and the half-breeds in their place.' He responded with a hint of frustration in his voice.

Midnite sighed. 'Opportunities like these…rarely present themselves. You have the chance to find a new path. A new…purpose.'

His words were met with a stony silence. 'Or, perhaps not.' He added.

John smirked back at him. 'So, what do you have for me?'

Midnite stubbed out his cigar and brought his hands together upon his desk. 'I have nothing for you, John.'

'You're telling me Beeman's death, Father Hennessy… Chas….doesn't prove what I've been telling you all along?'

Midnite glanced at him. '…I swore an oath to remain neutral.'

John began to protest, but settled for a stubborn sneer. He hadn't forgotten what happened last time he disrespected Midnite's stance. 'You know a stunt like that will happen again.' He said menacingly.

Midnite stared at him for a long time, the smoke from his burnt-out cigar the only trace of motion between them. He sighed. 'I will think about it.' He stated simply but genuinely, ending the conversation with a nod and a subtle tilt of the head towards the door.

John tried to keep the smile from his face. It was only a nudge in the right direction, but he was glad that the loss of his friends was recognised by someone else for what it was – an insult, a cruel taunt by monsters who didn't value the life of anyone or anything. It was more satisfying than he cared to admit that Midnite would even acknowledge something might be wrong, that the 'balance' didn't work after all. For Midnite to re-consider his neutral position, after all this time, was a definite indication of the severity of what had happened.

'John.' Midnite stopped him. 'There are a lot of grumblings about the Spear of Destiny.'

'I don't have it, Midnite. I have no idea where it is.'

Midnite met his gaze with a scrutinising stare. 'Maybe you don't. But it hasn't escaped the attention of every half-breed in LA that there's a girl out there who does. The fact she is a friend of yours only makes the prospects more…enticing.'

John frowned. 'She's trustworthy.'

'It doesn't matter what she is.' He said plainly. 'You know she'll be in danger.'

'What are you getting at, Midnite?'

Midnite slowly rose from his chair, reaching for another cigar. He paused. '…some mentions of the Spear…included talk of a _Falsus Matercula_.'

John blinked. 'The false mother.'

Midnite nodded. 'They're talking about the girl.'

'Well, well. That wasn't exactly a 'neutral' thing to say now, was it?' John smirked and headed for the door, though the hint of concern in his voice did not go unnoticed by either of them. As he walked out of the club into the cool night air, he desperately wished Beeman were still here. He needed more supplies if he was going to purify Angela's apartment and install his 'pest-control' equipment for any demons who unwisely decided to pay her a visit. He needed them urgently.


End file.
